


Dame in Distress

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Diablotin 3, Gen, Obnoxious Drunks, Titania's Cabaret, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denise to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dame in Distress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BalthCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalthCat/gifts).



Denise was over at the bar picking up a fresh round when she saw the trouble – one big burly guy, maybe even taller ‘n bigger than her pa, hassling one of the dames who worked at the club, and some little scrawny friend in his cups eggin’ him on.

“I said take your hands off me.” 

That was Zola - the singer - but the noise of the crowd mostly drowned out her voice, and the guy was so big probably the bouncers couldn’t see what was happening.

“Yeah, Anton, get a handful for me!”

Denise elbowed the scrawny guy in the chest, leaving him doubled over on his stool and slipped up to Anton who, by the smell of him, had been hitting the bottle pretty hard himself.

“Lady said to leave her alone, mister.”

"Huh?" Anton turned, giving Zola the opportunity to wrench herself away from him. "Buzz off, kid, this ain't none of your business."

"Disrespectin' the ladies who work here shouldn't be anyone's business." She scowled, hands on her hips. Neva was trying to wave one of the bouncers over, which seemed to make Anton more angry.

"You brat!" 

Maybe he knew he was about to get tossed, and that was why he compounded his stupid by taking a swing at her. But Denise was younger, faster, and more sober – she caught his fist, spinning him around and twisting it up behind his back. Remembering the tricks Syrez had taught her, she bent his wrist back until she heard him whimper in pain.

"Say you’re sorry to the ladies." She glared for good measure at his weasly little friend, who was trying to slip away. "And you too, buster, you ain't goin' anywhere."

"I'm sorry! Just lemme go!"

"Yeah right." Sorry he got caught maybe. Still, Denise released his arm as Haft loomed over the scene.

"Those two," Neva nodded at the troublemakers. "See them out – no need to be too polite about it."

The warforged nodded, grabbing them both by the scruff of the neck. "I'll take care of it."

Denise eyed the metal giant as he manhandled the drunks towards the exit, gesturing at the pair to make sure they knew she'd be keeping an eye on them too, before turning back to the bar. "You alright miss Zola?"

"Yes, I think so – thank you. You certainly know how to handle yourself. What’s your name, kid?"

"It's Murodea – Denise. 'M Hettie's niece. But, aw, that weren't nothin'! They shouldn'a been treatin' you like that."

"No, and I appreciate you stepping in, Denise. Can I get you a drink as a thank you?"

"Nah – my boss's got me covered." Denise jerked her head back towards the table where Ander was deep in conversation with some man she didn't know. "I gotta get going though – you take care, okay?"

"Here." Zola slipped her a coin – silver, by the weight of it. "It's the least I can do."

Grinning, Denise pocketed the tip before collecting the drinks Neva had poured for her. "Any time, miss!"

Zola returned her smile as she turned to go. "Well, kid, I'll have to keep that in mind."


End file.
